Saturday, April 18, 2009

One of my work buddies is making it his personal mission to find me a boyfriend. He thinks my bitter cynicism is a defense mechanism. Shhh! Don't give away my secrets, buddy!

Speaking of bitter cynicism, I had to go into the stairwell to cry at work last night. I ordered the wrong thing. On a VIP table. In the grand scheme of things, so not a big deal. But, I have one job to do. To get the people at my tables what they ask for. And I effed it up. I had to go into the kitchen and tell my exec chef and my general manager what I'd done. And holy shit, it upset me. I went out of the kitchen and into the dish room because I could feel my ears turning flame red (a sure sign that I am upset). The harder I tried to get it together, the faster the tears spilled down my cheeks. So, I ducked into the stairwell. The little 17-year-old dishwasher was in there, just trying to eat his dinner on the steps, poor guy. I got it outta my system, and then went back on the floor all smiles. It's lucky I have emo bangs to hide behind. By the time I got back on the floor, the kitchen had gotten the guy's correct order to him, my back server had handled our station flawlessly, and we ended up making great money. And the VIP was so nice to me, which is a first. He's notorious for his pickiness and shortness with the help.